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Chapter XII
THE NOTEBOOK

“Do you really think they’ll be where we left them, Bill?”

“Why sure! You’re not worrying, are you?”

The two were hurrying along the beach toward the spot where Dorothy had dropped to the sand and fallen asleep.

“Yes, I am.”

“Well, it’s Uncle Sam’s loot, not ours. And I reckon he cares more about knowing how the smuggling was done than the contraband itself, anyway.”

“I know. But that’s only half of it. The gang has got to be rounded up. We don’t know where they have their headquarters or who is in back of this business. So I’d hate to have to admit I’d lost the diamonds, after all.” Then, as Bill began to reply, she went on: “And don’t forget that Terry Walters is still missing – or was, when I flew over from New Canaan yesterday!”

“You’re right, pal. I just didn’t want you to take it too soberly. But that bearded aviator has got to be checked up. No easy matter, either, after what happened last night.” He broke off sharply. “There are the old boxes – just where I dropped them – so you see you’ve had your worry for nothing.”

“Just the same, we’ve been terribly careless!”

“Don’t rub it in,” said Bill, looping the line and its dangling load over his shoulder. “These things go to a bank for safe keeping just as soon as I can get rid of them.”

Dorothy caught his arm. “Let’s pry open one of the boxes, and make sure there really are diamonds inside.”

“Nothing doing,” Bill answered decisively. “They’re going to be turned over to the authorities – as is!”

“Well, you needn’t be so snooty about it. But I am crazy to see the sparklers – especially after all we’ve been through to rescue them!”

“Of course, – I’m sorry,” apologized Bill with a grin, “I’m kind of jumpy this morning, I guess. Me for bed as soon as I can find one. But you know, we really can’t open those things up, because we’d then be held responsible for contents – or no contents – as the case may be. See?”

“I didn’t think about that, Bill. But let’s forget the old boxes. I’m all in myself. Any idea what time it is? My watch has stopped.”

Bill glanced at his wrist. “Just seven o’clock. Seems like noon to me. This nice warm sun is a wonderful help – I was chilled to the bone.”

“Me too,” said Dorothy. “Well, here we are at the motor sailor. Nothing to keep us longer on this island. I vote we shove off.”

“Second the motion. Hop aboard and go aft. Your weight in the stern will help to raise her bow so I can push her out without breaking my back.”

“How’s that?” called Dorothy a minute later.

“Fine! Stand by for a shove!”

A heave of his shoulder against the bow loosened the boat’s keel from the sand and Bill sprang aboard as she glided into deep water.

“Don’t suppose there’s a chart of the lower bay stowed in one of those lockers?” he remarked as he started the engine. “The shallows are going to be the limit to navigate without running aground. Do you mind seeing what you can find, Dorothy?”

“Not at all – seeing I’ve already found one,” she laughed. “Came across it when I was looking for food.”

“Good.” Bill took over the wheel. “Let me see it, will you?”

Dorothy passed over the map. Bill studied it with a hand on the wheel.

“Thank goodness the deeper channels are marked,” he ruminated, “that’s a help, anyway.”

Dorothy peered over his shoulder.

“That island must be one of those in Jones Inlet. I had no idea we’d gone so far west.”

“All of fifteen miles as a plane flies to Babylon. No chance of making any time until we get into South Oyster Bay which is really the western end of Great South Bay. If we make Babylon by noon, we’ll be lucky.”

“No reason why we should both try to keep awake,” observed Dorothy. “I’ll skipper this craft for a spell. Make yourself comfortable somewhere and go to sleep. You’ll be called at ten o’clock.”

“But you need rest more than I do,” began Bill.

“Oh, I had a snooze on the Mary Jane,” she interrupted, “and got another on the sand this morning. Pipe down, sailor! This is your master’s voice what’s speaking. Excuse the ungarnished truth, but you look like something the cat brought in and didn’t want!”

Bill’s laugh ended in a yawn.

“Aye, aye, skipper. Call me at four bells. Night!”

He went forward and lay flat on the flooring, his head pillowed on his arms. He was asleep almost immediately.

For the next couple of hours Dorothy steered a winding course among low sandy islands and mudbanks. It was impossible to make any speed in these shallow, tortuous waters and she was taking no chances on running aground. It was monotonous work at best. She was deadly tired. There was little or no breeze and the sun, unshaded by the faintest wisp of cloud, fairly blistered the boat’s paint with its fierce heat.

At ten she roused Bill, and as soon as he was sufficiently alert to take over she went to sleep on the flooring in the shadow of a thwart.

It seemed as though she had but closed her eyes when Bill’s voice called her back to wakefulness.

“We’re almost in,” he reminded her. “Better run forward or I’m likely to ram the dock.”

Dorothy jumped to her feet and ran her fingers through her rumpled hair. She was astonished to see that the motor sailor was closing in on the dock of Yancy’s Motor Boat garage.

“We must have made wonderful time – ” she yawned, stumbling toward the bow.

“Only fair,” Bill said. “It’s almost noon. Snap into it, kid, and fend her off with the boathook.”

Presently they were tied up to the dock and Dorothy was making a sketchy toilet with the aid of her compact.

“How about it, old sport?” she looked up from her mirror, busy with damp powder and lipstick. “What’s on the program now? Thank goodness Wispy is still at her mooring over there. I s’pose after we settle with Yancy for the Mary Jane, we’d better take the plane and fly home.”

“Eventually, yes,” decided Bill. “I’ll go up to the office and fix things with Yancy. I’ve got to do some long distance telephoning, anyway, and park these boxes in a bank. It will save a lot of time if you’ll go over this boat with a fine tooth comb while I’m gone. I don’t expect you’ll find anything much, but there’s no telling.”

“All right,” she nodded. “And while you’re about it, get hold of that letter I wrote Mr. Walters and phone Lizzy we will be home for a late lunch. The sooner we can get back to New Canaan and Little Dorothy can crawl between clean sheets, the better she’ll be pleased!”

“Yep. I’ll work as fast as I can.”

Bill clambered on to the dock and made off in the direction of the boat yard.

For the next hour Dorothy worked manfully, overhauling the motor sailor. Fierce rays of the noonday sun beat down on the open boat. She was worn out and dizzy, but stuck pluckily to her job, turning out the contents of lockers and investigating every nook and cranny of the smugglers’ craft. Except for an old coat and those odds and ends which accumulate aboard any boat as large as the motor sailor, she found absolutely nothing. Tired and hot and crazy for sleep, she decided to call off this unprofitable search, when Bill’s voice hailed her.

“Hello, there, pardner,” he sang out, stepping aboard. “How are things going?”

Dorothy straightened her back and wiped the perspiration from her forehead with a sodden handkerchief. She noted the deep circles below Bill’s eyes and the tired droop of his shoulders. He looked on the verge of collapse, but his voice still held its hearty ring.

“Not so good, old timer. There isn’t a blessed thing worth while aboard this scow. Finish your business?”

“Reckon so. Got Washington on the phone and the big chief is tickled silly with all we’ve done. Tell you more about it later. Yancy will be recompensed for the Mary Jane and will look after this motor sailor until the government men take her over. I got Lizzie on the wire. She expects your father home tonight.”

“Thanks. Did you get my letter, too?”

“It’s in my pocket. I put the diamonds in a safe deposit box at a bank uptown. And I guess that’s pretty much everything.”

“You look done up, Bill.”

“I’ve felt sprucer. But you look pretty rocky yourself.”

“Feel like a wet smack, thank you. The heat is terrible.”

“Wait till I collect my duds and yours,” he suggested, “and we’ll beat it for New Canaan and Home Sweet Home!”

“They’re rolled up in a sea bag,” she told him. “Here it is.”

She started toward him with the bag in her arms, stumbled and would have fallen had not Bill’s steadying hand prevented.

“Kind o’ wobbly, eh?”

“Not as bad as all that, Bill. Caught my toe in that floorboard. It’s loose.”

“Have you had them up?”

“Why, no, I never thought of that.”

Bill took the sea bag from her and tossed it on to the dock.

“Hop on a thwart,” he prompted. “I don’t suppose there’s anything but bilgewater under the boards but we might as well have a look.”

“Need a hand?” asked Dorothy, looking down at him.

“No, I guess not. These sections aren’t heavy – ” He broke off with a sudden exclamation and fished up something from the wet.

“What is it?”

“Seems to be a notebook. Probably dropped out of either Donovan’s or Charlie’s pockets and got kicked under that loose flooring in the gale last night. But it’s soaking wet and its pages are stuck together. Wonder if we’ll be able to get anything out of it?”

Dorothy held out her hand.

“Give it to me. I’ll dry it out on the dock while you look some more.”

For the next few minutes Bill continued his search while Dorothy after placing the notebook on the decking of the dock watched it carefully, lest the light breeze blow it into the water.

At last he joined her and lifted the sea bag over his shoulder.

“How’s it coming?”

“Not so good. It’s going to take a long time to dry the book all the way through even in this sun.”

“Then let’s take it along to New Canaan. I’ll get Dad to put it in our oven as soon as we get home. That’ll do the trick. Get aboard that dinghy and I’ll row you over to the plane.”

Dorothy picked up the notebook and slipped it into her pocket.

“That’s the best thing you’ve said today,” she beamed, “I’ll be home and asleep in twenty minutes! Come along.”

Chapter XIII
THE WARNING

Dorothy and Mr. Dixon were finishing breakfast next morning when the Boltons, father and son, dropped in.

“Good morning, stranger,” was Mr. Dixon’s greeting to Bill. “I understand you’ve been to Europe and back a couple of times since we saw you last. We’ve missed you, boy.”

“Thanks,” returned Bill. “I’m glad to be home again.”

“Which home?” asked his father with an amused smile. “When in New Canaan you seem to spend most of your time across the way here.”

“And why not?” protested Mr. Dixon. “Dorothy and I return the compliment often enough. Since you people moved here two lonely widowers have acquired another child apiece. It’s fine – both Dorothy and I are the happier for it.”

“And that goes two ways,” asserted Bill. “How about it, Dad?”

“Yes, of course,” Mr. Bolton assented heartily. “The intimacy is one I enjoy immensely. But I’m afraid that Bill has begun the habit of leading Dorothy into all kinds of dangerous adventures. This diamond smuggling business, for instance.”

Mr. Dixon chuckled. “If you ask me, I don’t think Dorothy needs any leading.”

“Well, I should say not!” exclaimed his daughter. “If it weren’t for Bill, I’d never be able to get out of half the messes we drift into together!”

Mr. Dixon pushed his chair back from the breakfast table. “This meeting of the mutual admiration society is all very nice,” he announced with a twinkle in his eye, “But it is high time the ways and means committee got together on this last Bolton-Dixon hair-raiser. I vote we adjourn to the porch and learn what the subcommittee on the smugglers’ notebook has to report.”

“Second the motion,” chirped Dorothy. “I’m just crazy to hear what you’ve found out, Daddy Bolton. I suppose Bill has been hitting the hay, like me?”

“He put in nearly sixteen hours of uninterrupted slumber,” Mr. Bolton answered as they found chairs for themselves on the shaded porch, where the air was sweet with the scent of honeysuckle.

“Well, I guess it was a dead heat,” she laughed. “I woke up less than an hour ago, myself.”

Mr. Dixon passed his case to Mr. Bolton and when their after-breakfast cigars were well alight, Bill produced the notebook.

“While you’re busy with that stogie, Dad, I’ll start the ball rolling.”

“Humph! That – er – stogie happens to be a fifty-cent Corona!” snorted Mr. Dixon who was touchy about his smokes.

“Means nothing to me,” replied Bill blandly. “Don’t use ’em myself and – ”

“Say, will you please pipe down on cigars – ” broke in Dorothy, “and get to the notebook?”

“Oh, what a pun – ” groaned Bill, “you certainly – ”

“Be still!” ordered his father. “She’s right. Let’s get down to business. Now, here’s the book,” he went on, opening the little volume. “I dried it in our oven and although the writing is blurred, it is still quite legible. As you see, only a few pages have been used, and they show a simple set of flag signals. The red flag means: ‘Meet Steamship.’ The yellow flag stands for ‘A.M.’; the white, ‘P.M.’ Then there are twenty-four flags to designate the hours and half-hours from one to twelve.”

“Is that all?” asked Dorothy, disappointedly.

“Absolutely. The rest of the pages are blank.”

“I remember hearing the men speak of the bosses’ red flag when I was listening outside the cottage,” she said slowly, “and that meant, of course, that Donovan and Charlie were to meet the steamer.”

“Quite. But until we are able to locate the spot where these signals are displayed we won’t accomplish much.”

Bill nodded. “And now that they know we have discovered their method of smuggling, they’ll probably shift their operations from Fire Island Lightship to some other point along the coast.”

“Very likely,” his father acquiesced. “Although it is my opinion they will discontinue, temporarily, and lay low for a while.”

“Still there must be other shipments in transit right now,” suggested Mr. Dixon. “But I suppose they could manage that by sending radios in code?”

Mr. Bolton carefully knocked the ash from his cigar.

“I think that’s beyond the point,” he argued. “We can only surmise what they may or may not do. The government men will watch the ships and the coast. Both Bill and I talked to Washington over the phone just before we came over here. And the officials there believe that the bearded aviator’s plane is a most important factor in the operations of the smugglers. And the Chief wants Bill to find that plane – ”

Dorothy snorted derisively. “Well, he doesn’t want much! That airplane won’t fly over the Beach Club again, after this – ”

Mr. Bolton smiled at Dorothy’s vehemence. “But you see, my dear, the Washington gentleman thinks that if Bill is able to follow the mysterious amphibian, it will eventually lead him to the headquarters of the gang.”

Bill burst out laughing. “It’s just like telling me to take a handful of salt – and if I can put it on the birdie’s tail, I will eventually catch the birdie! But it isn’t really the Chief’s order, he knows what we’re up against. It’s that assistant of his who wants to cover himself with glory. I asked him if I hadn’t better disguise my plane like a string of white boxes so they’d take me for a diamond necklace!”

“What’d he say?” giggled Dorothy.

“Oh, he spread on the soft soap until I got even more disgusted and turned him over to Dad!”

Mr. Dixon chuckled. “It’s a pretty large order. I don’t suppose your Secret Service friend gave you any valuable suggestions?”

“He did not,” sneered Bill. “That, as he explained, was entirely up to me!”

For several minutes no one spoke.

“We sure are up against it,” sighed Dorothy at last.

“You mean I am,” was Bill’s reply. “The only thing I can do is to start a series of patrols.”

“We will start a series of patrols,” she corrected. “Two planes will be better than one.”

“Just as you say.” Bill showed no enthusiasm. “My idea of something uninteresting to do is to fly around all day, hunting another plane, that’s probably safely housed in its hangar all the time.”

“Oh, don’t be such a wet blanket! If none of us have brains enough to think of a plan to trap that fellow, there’s no use grouching over it!”

“That’s all very well. But where are we going to patrol? You told me, I think, that those lads planned to take you from the warehouse to their headquarters in Connecticut. This state’s not so big when you compare it with Texas or California – but when it comes to locating a single plane – ”

“Listen!” cried Dorothy and ran to the porch steps. “Come here – all of you – quick!”

The deep drone of an airplane increased to a giant roar as a smart two-seater swept down toward the house.

“It’s the Mystery Plane!” she shrieked. “The nerve of him!”

On came the amphibian with throttle wide open, just topping the trees at the edge of the lawn. Then the four on the steps saw the pilot drop something overside and zoom upward missing the roof of the house by inches.

“I should say he has nerve – ” Mr. Dixon pointed out on to the lawn. “Run out and get that parcel he dropped on the grass, Bill. This business is getting more interesting by the minute!”

Bill brought the package back to the porch.

“Oh, what do you think it is?” Dorothy grabbed Bill’s arm in her excitement.

“Calm down!” said her father, as Bill held out a small box covered with brown paper and sealed with dabs of red wax. “Handle it carefully – there may be explosive in it.”

“I don’t think so – ” said Bill, “those things generally run by clockwork. There’s no tick in this box.”

“Come on – let’s open it,” exclaimed Dorothy impatiently. “I’ll bet it’s nothing dangerous. Couldn’t have been dropped from a plane without going off!”

“Wait one minute,” commanded her father. “We’ll be on the safe side, anyway. Don’t touch the thing till I come back.”

He ran into the house.

“Any address on it?” inquired Dorothy.

“Not the slightest bit of writing. If there is any, it’s underneath this outside wrapping.”

Mr. Dixon came out of the house carrying a pail of water, which he brought down to the lawn, where they were waiting.

“Drop that package into the water,” he ordered Bill. “A good soaking will take the sting out of any explosive.”

Dorothy burst out laughing.

“Maybe – but not in this case, Dad. Look, the thing floats!”

She snatched up the package and ripped off the outside paper, disclosing a white cork box, similar to those used for carrying the contraband.

Bill took a knife from his pocket and opened a blade that proved to be a small screwdriver. He took the box from Dorothy and removed the screws from the lid.

“Gee, do you think they’ve sent us a diamond?” she asked jokingly.

“Not a chance. This is a message of some kind, I’ll bet!”

The box was filled with jeweler’s cotton, from the center of which he drew a revolver cartridge. Around it, fastened by a rubber band, there was a small sheet of note paper. The others gathered close as he smoothed out the paper.

Blocked in capitals with a red crayon was the smugglers’ message.

“LAY OFF! THIS MEANS BOTH OF YOU.”

“Aha! And if we don’t lay off, we’ll be plunked with a bullet from a cartridge like this!” Dorothy summed up. “This affair is likely to get exciting before we finish it.”

Mr. Bolton studied the paper then returned it to the box with the cartridge.

“Has it struck you oddly,” he said quietly, “that these people should know that Bill was mixed up in this? That message, of course, is for Dorothy and Bill.”

“Yes, I was thinking of that,” admitted Bill.

“Strange – ” cogitated Mr. Dixon. “You two flew from Babylon back here without a stop – and you both went straight to bed. Neither you, nor I, Bolton, have spoken to anyone about their exploits, I’m sure.”

“Somebody must have found out from the servants that our offspring flew back together,” his friend decided. “It could not have happened any other way. Then that fact, added to the glimpse they must have caught of a young man in the Mary Jane with Dorothy, when they rammed the smugglers’ motor sailor off the lightship, gave them a simple line of reasoning. And the joke of the matter is that their warning has done just the reverse from what they figured it would do!”

Mr. Dixon looked puzzled.

“I don’t quite see what you mean?”

“Why, it has given us the only real clue we have to the gang’s whereabouts,” smiled Bolton senior.

“Dad’s one up on me, too,” grinned Bill. “How about you, Dot?”

Miss Dixon stamped her foot. “You’ll dot, and carry one you’ll remember for the rest of your life if you murder my perfectly decent name that way, Bill! You ought to know by now that I won’t stand for it.”

“So sorry, Dorothy!” he apologized with mock politeness. “Will Miss Sherlock Holmes, the famous lady sleuthhound who solved the New Canaan Bank mystery, deign to say whether or not she also spots a clue in the villain’s message?”

“Aren’t you the bunk! Yes, I think I know what Daddy Bolton is talking about.”

“Well, Miss Cleverness, what is it then?”

“Oh, you make me tired! But just to prove that I’m not as dumb as you act, the clue is this – ”

“Give me a chance,” begged Mr. Dixon, entering into the spirit of the game. “Your idea, Bolton, is to find out from the servants who they’ve been talking to and trace the smugglers from – ”

“Cold as an iceberg,” broke in Mr. Bolton. “I’m sorry to admit it, but you and Bill don’t seem very quick on the uptake this morning. What do I mean, Dorothy?”

Dorothy made a face at Bill.

“We know that these men have headquarters somewhere in this state,” she began airily. “Why? Because Donovan said they must get me over to Connecticut. And later, in the warehouse, he told Peters not to rob me because the boss wanted me delivered just as I was. Daddy Bolton believes that because these men have been spotted so quickly that you are mixed up in it, Bill, their headquarters are much nearer to this house than we figured: that the chances are, it is only a very few miles from here that they’re to be found – or their system of spying on us couldn’t be so perfect!”

“That’s right,” concurred Mr. Bolton. “This smuggler boss or his accomplices over here must live in the neighborhood. Some of his servants know ours – have known them for some time or they would not have been able to ask questions without causing suspicion.”

Mr. Dixon looked suddenly serious. “You can’t mean that our neighbors along this ridge are mixed up in it? The Clarks, old Holloway, the Denbys, Miss Cross – and ten or a dozen others – are all old friends and eminently respectable people! Why, it’s preposterous to think – ”

“I’m not trying to pin it on anybody yet,” countered Bill’s father. “But mark my words – when this business is cleared up, you’ll find that some eminently respectable New Canaan household is mixed up in it!”